...unless I want to squish myself to the buzziest part on the sidewalk: the exact spot where the fountain blocks the view of the door and you can get a perfectly symmetrical picture when you put your camera in-between the bars of the fence.

Although the presence of all the other tourists – who also just want to take the White House off their bucket lists – is annoying, I find the presence of the activists more frustrating. The group turns tourist pictures into political statements with their signs, makes the busy avenue even busier, and lets your ears ring by blasting music.

I do not understand why they are here.

On the other side of the vigil-not-tent, I find a small black sign that tells me more about this “William Thomas Anti-Nuclear/Peace Vigil at the White House,” which has been manned “24/7 365 since June 3, 1981 … thru: Hurricanes, Blizzards, Tornados, Snow, Sleet, Hailstorms, Coivid-19, Black Lives Matter (Illegal Park Closures),” and its goal to “Stop all Human Rights Violations!”

Around 6 p.m., I stroll onto Pennsylvania Avenue. The sidewalk close to the fence is still filled with tourists.

The street is filled with two cars of the Secret Service Police, an activist protesting in support of Ukraine, some interested tourists, two Jehova Witnesses handing out Bible truths, locals walking by, the guy playing national anthems 'The Truth Conductor', and the tourist he convinced to sing the anthem of their home country.

I was hoping to find the same guy I saw in front of the Peace Vigil the last time, but instead, I found another activist: Christopher ‘Cody’ Anderson. He tells me that he has been irregularly volunteering at the vigil for around 35 years and has almost finished a year of taking every night shift. The White House Peace Vigil is the only vigil allowed to remain in front of the White House 24/7. To keep this exceptional status,  someone should always be at the vigil. If the Secret Service Officers or the Park Police find it unmanned for longer than fifteen minutes, they can take it down for it never to return.

Cody introduces himself further and tells about the world records he claims to have, from completing the longest bike ride in California History to parasailing and doing a record-length walk in the Holy Land to raise money for good causes. I introduce myself as a journalism student from the Netherlands. “America can learn a lot from your country.”

Our conversation often gets interrupted.

Every time a tourist takes a picture of the vigil, he makes a peace sign with his right hand and tells them it is “the longest standing vigil in American History.” I am unsure if this is true, but people look impressed or uninterested.

One tourist starts a conversation and asks about the lady who lives there. “She was a legend,” says Cody, referring to Concepción Picciotto, an elderly woman who had once stood exactly in Cody’s place, taking shifts at the Peace Vigil for many years until she died in 2016. “I met her in 2012,” says the tourist while looking at her picture between all the signs. “I think I spoke to her for five minutes, and I can’t remember if I agreed with the stuff she said, but I will always remember it. Whenever I have been in the city, I take whoever’s with me to see this place.”

I learn much about others who help or have helped at the vigil, like Craig, who interrupts our conversation by bringing Cody a birthday present. “Thank you!” Cody responds. “Do you want some chicken wings? Wait for one second; here, take these. I have enough food, and these are really delicious,” Cody says while offering Craig a meal. They often have food at the vigil for both the volunteers and to hand out to homeless people.

The volunteers help people on the street whenever they can. Cody recently took a homeless person with him to McDonalds after his shift to give him some food. He does not see homeless people as his friends but wants to help out where he can. A day and a half later, the homeless person returned with a hospital bracelet around his wrist. He accused Cody of poisoning him. “I obviously didn’t because if I really wanted to kill him, I would have succeeded. But why would I want to do that?” The homeless person attacked him and is now facing court. Cody was planning on leaving D.C. after he completed his self-assigned one-year volunteer service at the vigil, but is now planning on extending his stay a little bit longer to see if they are going to charge the homeless person or, his preferred option, “give him the help he needs, although I do not want to see him near my face again.”

Although Secret Service Officers are always nearby, and security cameras can be found on every lamppost nearby, the safety of the activists is never guaranteed. Four days before Cody was attacked, another volunteer was assaulted, Philipos. “If I am Ironman, Philipos is Superman. You should really talk with him.”

Tuesday, October 3

“I have always been a hippie,” Craig tells me while he rolls up his sleeve and shows me the peace sign tattoo on his arm to strengthen this point. I have to squint my eyes to see it, the sun blinding my eyes and burning our skin. “I got this one in 1981,” he continues while picking up the umbrella from the ground to cover himself in shadow.

Yet another afternoon at the Vigil

When I walked up to the Anti-Nuclear Peace Vigil, once again hoping to find Philipos, I found the same volunteer who brought Cody a birthday present. Now, we were conversing on how he ended up at the vigil.

“In 2002, I first arrived in D.C. after hitchhiking back to the coast where I was born. I was homeless and mostly stayed in Dupont Circle. At that time, I first got to know of the peace vigil.” He became friends with the vigils’ founder, William Thomas Hallanback, and volunteers like Concepción, Don, and Rudy. “Don and Rudy both took twelve-hour long shifts, and they overlapped for half an hour. During that time, they liked to chat and sit next to each other, so they had an extra chair. I spend a lot of time on that chair. I also hung out at the Peace House,” which William Thomas had owned.

“After 2002, I returned to South Dakota where my parents had lived, and was a cab driver for nearly ten years.” When Craig got fired, he did not know what else to do, “So I retired out this way,” he explains while waving at the peace vigil behind him, sitting in the same place as where Willliam, Concepción, and so many peace activists had sat before. “It was 2014 when I hitchhiked back to D.C. in five days. When I showed up, Philipos was here. I told him I was friends with William Thomas and wanted to volunteer. He said sure, and now it’s been ten years.”

A man interrupts our conversation, asking if he can take a picture. “Of course,” Craig says, making a peace sign with his right hand. “Do people take a lot of pictures?” I ask. “Yes, and I also help others take pictures. I took a photography class in the past, so I like to think I can take people some good photos.” He does not have as many interactions with tourists as he likes, but he does know interactions with others.

He is friends with other regular activists, like Melody, who is standing across the street. One of her signs reads: ‘Evangelist Melody Crombie, Presidential Candidate.’ She does not want to trade Pennsylvania Avenue for the White House and its accompanying job but wants people’s attention to discuss her other sign, ‘Jesus Saves.’ 

Craig also has interactions with the Secret Service officers. “One day, I was bored and asked an officer to shoot through an apple I had put on top of a sign.” Half an hour later, he claims that he found the apple sliced by a laser - an anecdote that seems too good to be true.

Craig kills time at the vigil by doing karaoke (although rarely and only when it is a quiet day in front of the White House) and using his tablet. He loves playing online checkers, scrolling through his camera roll, or working in his notes app. His camera roll highlights his creative side, just like the self-made beaded jewelry around his neck. He shows me colorful paintings of Abraham Lincoln, the Obamas, John Lenon, Jezus, cats, dinosaurs, nuclear weapons, or a combination: Abraham Lincoln as a pterodactyl, a flying dinosaur. 

Craig also lets me read some of his notes to help me understand why he volunteers at the vigil: “It is the 3 stances of the White House Peace Vigil (Which are #NoWar #NoNukes #NoHumanRightsViolations or #Justice) AND my future family & art projects AND my 6 Internet trajectories,” which consist out of organisations and initiatives he supports that focus on topics like faith, the homeless crisis, poverty, climate change, education, and gender equality. He wants to serve others, speak up about what he thinks is important, and want others to do the same.

His current team, the volunteers at the vigil, is growing smaller, with Cody leaving soon. “I cross my fingers that we’ll find someone new. I’ll do what’s necessary to keep the vigil from shutting down, but I really don’t want to do the nights anymore for a long time.”

But Cody, who arrives to take over Craig’s shift around 6 p.m., feels the same way. “I only get three to four hours of sleep a night” because of the cold and sometimes because of “crazy homeless people making too much noise.” Officially, they are not allowed to sleep at the vigil, but Craig tells me that he has only been ticketed once in ten years of volunteering and often helping with night shifts. “I’m tired,” Cody continues, “but at least I can say I have lived.”

Sunday, October 10

Just after dinner, I visited the Peace Vigil to find Cody checking the ‘Free Palestine’ sign on the right front side. “There was just a crazy woman who wanted to tear this down.” He tells me that since October 7th, it has gotten extra heated on the avenue.

I want to expand on that, but I can not stay long so I ask him when he is leaving. “It’s like October 23rd.” Cody is not staying anymore to wait for what the D.A.’s office is going to do with the person who he says attacked him, but to make sure Philipos can have his birthday party. Once Cody leaves, Philipos will have to take more shifts, so giving him extra time to enjoy his birthday feels like the least he can do. “You know, he’s been involved with this for 42 years. His godfather started it.”

But although Cody does not necessarily want to put more pressure on the other volunteers, he will leave after the 23rd. “I have done over a year standing up for world peace, human rights, and against nuclear weapons. That is pretty much cool shit, in my opinion.” He thinks he, ‘an American hero,’ does not get enough press coverage for all he has done and says that if he were Brad Pitt, the media would be all over him, an anecdote I have already heard him use before. “If more people did their part, we might actually get peace now.”

Tuesday, 17 October

“1, 2, 3, 4, Occupation no more! 5, 6, 7, 8, Gaza, we will liberate!” “Are you just used to it by now?” I ask Cody since I have a hard time concentrating on our conversation. The chanting and the drum beat constantly interrupt my chain of thoughts. “I am used to it,” Cody answered, “but I still can’t sleep with it.”

I found something uncommon that day on my standard route over Pennsylvania Avenue. It was my sixth time walking that way toward the White House, but the first time, the road and sidewalk were closed. I did not understand why, so I asked a Secret Service agent if there was a way to access the avenue since I had to interview Cody Anderson, the guy from the Peace Vigil.

“Who?” the agent said. “You can go into the park through the park from H Street. That is what everyone has been doing.”

Walking around the block, I only hoped he was right because it was my last chance to speak to Cody before he left. After a minute, the park came into sight, filled with people. My first thought was ‘good’ because it meant I could also get in. My second thought was less comprehensive.

“Free, Free Palestine!” people chanted while I slowly approached the group gathered in front of the fences that closed the avenue and surrounded the peace vigil. Hidden inside the vigil, I found Cody.

“These people are here because a hospital was bombed. That is why they came out. Over 500 people died in a missile attack, which Israel claims was a Hamas missile that fell short and malfunctioned or something like that. The Hamas and Palestinian government is saying: oh shit, that is not us.”

Cody talked and talked, not distracted by the third big protest for Palestine he had witnessed within the last two weeks. I tried to listen, although sitting inside the tent did not help, cutting out the surroundings.

Luckily, I can just come back another time because, again, Cody is planning to stay longer. He will keep volunteering until the 30th of January because of his conversation with the Lord. “I told him I had done my job, but you can’t win an argument with him.”

I opened my Instagram this morning to see similar images to the ones I had seen ten days before, photos and videos of people marching down the National Mall to protest the Israel-Hamas war. This time, the protesters were not urging the United States to support Palestine but to keep supporting Israel.

When I arrived in front of the White House, I found the street closed, the park packed with people protesting for immigrants, and the sidewalk filled with activists for Bangladesh - not an Israel supporter in sight.

Now, I was sitting next to Craig and his girlfriend, who had just stopped by to keep him company and to drop off the flyers she had made about the vigil to pass out to tourists. We form a little group with three other people: an English-speaking tourist with his suitcases, a Spanish-speaking tourist with Google Translate, and an activist Craig knows with his bike and ‘Nthanyahu: carpet-bomber, carpet bagger, WAR CRIMINAL’-sign.

The first tourist saw the Palestinian flag and asked if he could take a picture. The second wanted to do the same thing and tried to thank Craig for supporting Palestine with Google Translate. The other activist just wanted to talk to Craig while he stared down every pro-Israel activist that set foot onto the sidewalk.

While some people thank our small little group for supporting the controversial side, others, mainly the people who just arrived from the National Mall and want to take their picture in front of the White House, give us dirty looks.

With the Truth Conductor playing Feliz Navidad in the background, I see a discussion unfold between the Israeli activists and the pro-Palestine activist with his bike. “Do you know what Hamas is doing? You obviously don’t.” “You’re killing Palestinians!” The discussion heathens until a Secret Service officer hops over the fence and steps between the groups.

Although the officers’ monitoring everything makes me feel safer, I wish I had my own sign ‘student-journalist’ to avoid dirty looks. Craig had placed my chair underneath the Palestinian flag, and if looks could kill, I would be dead.

Once again, I am getting dirty looks by assumingly pro-Israel tourists. “They just stand there and look at me. That has been happening a lot over the last two months.” Neil tells me. He started volunteering at the White House Peace Vigil a few months before Craig and often covers the morning shifts from Monday to Friday. He does not tell me much else: “I am here to talk about the vigil, not about me.” He refers me to the other people on the avenue.

“I forgot her name, but you should go talk to that woman over there. She is part of a group protesting against guns, and they are here every Monday. You should talk to them because I think they will leave in half an hour.” “That is Doug. I do not think he’ll talk to you. He stands there with his sign, but when someone comes up to talk about it, he shuts them off.” “That guy comes here to pray.” “That’s Nadine. She would make a way better interview.” “That guy with the hat.” “Or Philipos, he is the really interesting guy.”

Thursday, 14 December

Everyone always refers to Philipos. Some might say he is the Peace Vigils’ boss, although he is an anarchist who does not believe in hierarchy. “The highest title I would give myself is volunteer coordinator.” He started helping at the vigil twenty days after his godfather started it. First irregularly, later taking 42-hour shifts, and now at least five days a week. During the week, he will take afternoon shifts from 1 p.m. to 6 p.m.; during the weekends, he will be there from around 8 a.m. until 7 p.m.

I ask Philipos about the future of the vigil. “Since nobody doing the vigil is under 60, we might be its last generation.” If he can not find a new generation of activists, he will remain the president’s closest neighbor until the day he dies. “Unless I get dementia and somebody has to spoon-feed me some soup.” In an ideal world, he would see the end of the nuclear industry - one of the vigils’ primary goals. But he does not see that happening anytime soon, like he did in his forties. Once, he had thought they would get the job done as soon as Raegen left office, but many presidents have since passed, and not much has changed. 

We get interrupted by an activist in an Amnesty International shirt. She asks if the group gathered on the street in front of us can use washable red food coloring on the blankets and dolls they brought to represent ‘the blood on Biden’s hands’ in the Israel-Hamas war. “Activists often come to ask me for advice,” he explains before returning to our conversation.

“What was you’re question again? Oh yeah! Well, I already know the next person to take over the job,” he said while grabbing my hand. “You will come back in six months after this interview, and then I’ll start training you for the next eighteen months. In the name of your father and the name of maybe your future son, I ordain you. You can’t take it back,” he finishes seriously before cracking up. “I’m playing with you.”

I do not plan to join the William Thomas Anti-Nuclear Peace Vigil or the other activists on Pennsylvania Avenue, but I finally understand them. They care a lot and represent those who can not stand up for themselves figuratively and literally because they can not travel to Washington, D.C. The activists’ presence reminds me that the White House is more than the background of many tourist’ pictures, the B-roll in the news, and the location in a movie. It is a symbol of democracy, power, and chance.